


The Care and Feeding of Sam Winchester

by BeckySinger



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Big Brother Dean, Brother Feels, Caregiver Dean, Child Abuse, Child Hunger, Child Neglect, Childhood Memories, Comfort Food, Gen, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, No Wincest, Parentification, Pre-Series, Weechesters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-10
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-10 21:45:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3304568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeckySinger/pseuds/BeckySinger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The first time Dean fed Sam was very early in the morning, just hours after he saw their Mom go up in flames...</i>
</p><p> </p><p>A series of individual vignettes from the Winchesters' childhood and teen years centered around food, and examining Dean's role as caregiver, inspired by his conversation with Tina in 10x12 "About A Boy" about the myriad of ways he made macaroni and cheese for Sam. WIP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. After the Fire

**Author's Note:**

> **Author's Note:** As usual, I don't own _Supernatural_ or its characters. I'm just taking them for a spin.
> 
> That scene in "About A Boy" when Dean and Tina are talking about their childhoods, especially when Dean talks about making macaroni and cheese for Sam a lot, punched me right in the feels, and this started happening. I didn't need my heart in one piece. I was going to put all the vignettes in one chapter, but the second one started getting away from me, and I realized that would be hella long, so here I go, writing my first multi-chapter fic in this fandom. I'm not sure yet about the posting schedule. I have the second vignette about half done, and after that it just depends on how easy they come and how many pop into my head.

The first time Dean fed Sam was very early in the morning, just hours after he saw their Mom go up in flames. Dean woke from a fitful sleep to the sound of Sam crying, and he wouldn't stop. Their elderly neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Hennessy had let them spend the rest of the night on their family room's fold-out sofa, but they were hard of hearing and asleep upstairs.  His Dad sat on the end of the mattress, staring unblinking at nothing, while Sam's face turned red and he kicked his legs and struck out with his tiny fists, tears running into his little baby ears.  
  
Dean wanted to yell at his Dad to do something. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He couldn't talk, not yet. His throat hurt from the smoke. (As it turned out, he wouldn't speak a word for months.) Instead, he walked over to the small pile of belongings his Dad and the firemen had managed to salvage, one of which was an emergency diaper bag his mother had left in the trunk of the car, and pulled from it a bottle and a small canister of powdered baby formula, which he deposited in his Dad's lap.

John snapped to attention then. "I guess Sammy's hungry, isn't he?"

Dean nodded.

"Now, how do I do this..." John trailed off, turning the canister in his hands to read the instructions. "I'll be right back, Dean. Watch your little brother. See if you can get him to stop crying so he doesn't wake Mr. and Mrs. Hennessy." He watched his Dad walk down the short hallway between the family room and kitchen.

Dean pulled Sammy up to sitting, and propped him up against his own tummy. His wailing turned into disgruntled whimpering, and his chubby baby hands latched onto one of Dean's, shaking it back and forth before shoving it in his mouth and biting. Sam was teething, and one of his teeth had just begun peeking above the gum line. The bite hurt, and it made Dean a little bit mad, but Sam was a baby. He didn't know anything about anything. Dean resisted the urge to hit or bite him back, just pulled his hand away. Sam started to wail again, but just then his Dad returned with a prepared bottle. He pressed it into Dean's hands.

"Here. Feed your brother. I'll go get us some breakfast, and I'll teach you to change his diaper when I get back," John said, putting on his coat and slipping out the back door without a backward glance.

Dean maneuvered Sam into a different position, cradling his head in his left elbow just like he'd seen Mom do, and pressed the bottle to Sam's mouth. Sam latched on, sucking greedily, his little fist curled into Dean's pajama sleeve. After he'd had a little more than half, Sam's eyes began to droop.  Sam released his grip on Dean's sleeve, and he removed the bottle from Sam's slackening mouth.  There was something else he was supposed to do. What was it? Right. Burp him. With a bit of difficulty, he hoisted Sam up against his shoulder and toppled into the back of the sofa, wiggled into an upright position again, and began patting Sam's back. Sam burped rather loudly. Dean thought it was gross, but Sam let out a soft baby giggle and battled at Dean's chest before going quiet.  Dean slid him down, until Sam's head was pillowed against his heart, and watched him blink a few times before he went to sleep. Dean kissed his little brother on the forehead and leaned into the back of the sofa, his own eyes drifting closed.

When John returned with breakfast from the diner down the street, he found both his boys asleep and the remainder of Sam's bottle slowly leaking onto the sheets.


	2. Sunday Dinner with Missouri

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five-year-old Dean and not quite one-year-old Sam spend one Sunday with Missouri Moseley. Dean helps her cook Sunday dinner and teaches her how to feed Sam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author's Note:** This chapter got away from me, becoming much longer and more involved than I'd anticipated. I'm still not entirely sure about it, but I've been tinkering with it for days, so I'm just going to put it out there so I can move on to other pieces: an idea I had for a Dean/Cas Valentine's Day one-shot, the next chapter of this, and a couple of ideas I had for original short stories.

Once, when Dean was five and just before Sam’s first birthday, Dad dropped them off at Missouri Moseley's house for a day. Dean liked her immediately. She gave good hugs, she was nice to him, and she wore the same perfume as his Mom. It was Sunday, which, for Missouri, meant Sunday dinner, just like her Mama and Grandmama used to make, she said, a big meal with dessert. That particular Sunday, she made fried chicken, homemade macaroni and cheese (not the powdery stuff from the blue box Dad made sometimes), green beans, and cornbread, with apple pie for dessert.

She sat a wiggling Sam in an old high chair at the kitchen table, putting some blocks and a couple toy cars in the tray for him to play with, and brought Dean into the kitchen, too. "Dean, did you ever help your Mama in the kitchen?"

"Yes, ma’am. I watched her cook dinner, and we made cookies and pie," he replied solemnly, nodding. He missed Mom. He missed her picking him up and sitting him on the counter where he could see the stove while she cooked dinner, but not close enough to touch it or get splattered by any wayward grease or boiling water or sauce. He missed hugs and kisses and falling asleep to her singing "Hey Jude." He missed getting to roll out pie crust or toss handfuls of chocolate chips into cookie dough. At Christmas, she made sugar cookies and let him use the cookie cutters to cut them out, then she let him sprinkle them in colored sugar.

"Sounds like your Mama wanted you to know your way around a kitchen. Would you like to help me make Sunday dinner for you and me and your brother?" she asked, stooping to his level.

Dean nodded. "Yes, Miss Missouri."

"Alright then. First thing you do is come here and wash your hands," Missouri said, pulling a step stool out of a bottom cabinet nearby and setting it in front of the kitchen sink. Dean obeyed, drying his hands on the dish towel she gave him. Then she moved the stool over in front of the counter next to the stove. "Now, don't touch the stove. You know that, right?"

He nodded yes. Stoves were hot, and they hurt if you touched them. That's what Mom said.

"Good. I think you're gonna be the best little kitchen helper I've ever had," she said, smiling and tickling his tummy. He giggled, and beamed at the praise. "Now, first thing we're gonna do is put the macaroni on to cook. I've already got water in this pot, and I've turned the stove on so the water will boil. You know what that means?"

"That's when the water gets hot and there are lots of bubbles in it," Dean replied.

"That's right. When the water boils, you put in the macaroni and a little salt, and you cook 'em 'til they get soft enough to eat. You see that box of macaroni there behind you?"

Dean turned, and there was a familiar box of pasta, and, yeah, the little clear plastic window revealed macaroni. "Yes, ma'am." He picked it up and passed it to Missouri.

"You're so polite! Thank you, sugar." Missouri opened an upper cabinet and pulled down a measuring cup, setting it on the counter, then looked back at Dean, who was, of course, watching intently. "You wanna pour the macaroni in the measuring cup?" Dean nodded and smiled enthusiastically, peeking up at her shyly through his eyelashes. She returned the smile and opened the box, giving it to Dean. "When I say stop, you stop pouring, okay?"

"Yes, Miss Missouri," he said, holding the box carefully in both hands and pouring the macaroni into the measuring cup.

"Stop." The macaroni were nearly to the top of the cup. He pulled back. Not a single macaroni escaped. "You did such a good job, Dean! Thank you." Dean beamed. "Now, the water isn't boiling yet. How about you hop down and go play with your brother a little bit. He's thrown all those blocks off in the floor, and he'll get fussy 'fore long because babies get bored easy, and when they get bored they get fussy."

"Okay," Dean said, hopping off the stool and picking blocks up, placing them back in the high chair tray.

While Dean played with Sam, Missouri mixed up the cornbread and put it in the oven, then started the chicken frying and the green beans cooking before she called Dean back over to the counter. She handed him several slices of Kraft Singles, still in their packaging.

“Would you mind opening these and stacking them up on that cutting board by the stove, baby?” she asked, dropping some butter in an empty pot.

“Okay,” he said, getting back up on the stool and setting the stack of cheese slices on the counter. He picked up the first one, and peeled the plastic back. When Mom made grilled cheese, this was his part. He remembered the last time he had had one of Mom’s grilled cheese sandwiches. He had a cold, and she made one to go with his tomato rice soup. It made him miss Mom, and he felt sad. Instead of crying, he watched Miss Missouri. Crying made Dad mad. He was supposed to be a big boy, too big to cry.

He watched Missouri sift a bit of flour into the melted butter, and stir it around. He peeled the plastic off another cheese slice and added it to the stack. When he turned his eyes back to Missouri, she was at the refrigerator, pulling out a jug of milk and a small block of cheese more orange than the Kraft Singles.

She noticed him watching her. “I’ve got this little piece of cheddar cheese left, too, so I’m going to put it in here and it will make it extra cheesy. It’s the kind of cheese they use on that stuff your Daddy makes out of the box, but better ‘cause it’s not powdered. You’re doing so good, almost done peeling those slices! Almost ready to use ‘em.” She set poured some of the milk into the pot with the flour and butter, stirring briefly, and set the cheese by the stove, turned the frying chicken and gave the green beans a stir, then checked the macaroni. “The macaroni is done cooking, so I’m gonna turn that burner off and take them over here to the sink to drain. We’re getting close to being ready to eat.”

“Eat! Eat!” Sam squealed, pounding his little hands on the high chair tray and giggling.

“It won’t be too much longer, Sam.” Missouri laughed. “I’ll bet your brother is hungry a lot, isn’t he?”

“Uh-huh.” Dean nodded, absorbed in his task.

Dean finished peeling the last slice of cheese as Missouri poured the macaroni into a colander in the sink. She picked it up and shook it a little to get more water out and put the colander over the top of the pot she’d boiled them in, bringing them back to the stove. She stirred the sauce, which was thickening, and dropped the Kraft Singles in one or two at a time.

“See what I’m doing? You put a little in at a time and stir it around so it melts and goes all through the sauce, nice and smooth, not lumpy.” She dropped the last Kraft Single in stirring with one hand, and poked the chicken with the big fork she held in the other. “That still needs a few minutes.” She checked the green beans again. “Those are done, we’ll just set them down on low to keep ‘em warm.” She turned back to the cheese sauce. “Now, Dean, could you open that drawer just beside you, to your left.” Dean opened the drawer. “Do you see something that looks like a piece of metal with a lot of holes in it?”

“This?” he asked, holding up a grater.

“That’s exactly it. Could you hand that here please?” Dean passed it to her. “Thank you. Now we just grate the rest of this in. Scoot your stool over a little. I’m gonna need you to stir while I grate. You have to be careful with the grater or you’ll skin your fingers.” Dean took the wooden spoon from Missouri and started stirring in circles as she grated in the cheese. “You’re doing real good, Dean. You’ll be a really good cook when you grow up. I can tell.”

Dean smiled up at her. He wanted to be able to cook like Mom. “Really?”

“Yes, sugar, you will.” Dean smiled wider, dimples showing. Missouri smiled back, shaking her head.

When she’d finished with the cheese, she told Dean to keep stirring while she took the chicken out of the frying pan and put in on a plate lined with paper towels. “Okay, I’m gonna put the macaroni in the sauce now and stir it together. Could you go set the table for us, please? You know what that means?”

“Yes.” His Mom had just started having him set the table at dinner time. Missouri already had the plates and silverware and napkins stacked at the end of the kitchen table. He set Sam’s place first, on the table top, not on the high chair tray, which still held some blocks, and he was still pushing one of the toy cars across its surface. He had a regular plate, but a plastic baby spoon with a few teeth on the end, something Dad called a spork, with a handle shaped like an airplane. Not that he would use it to eat. Sam mostly ate with his hands unless Dean or Dad or somebody fed him, and played with the spork. Dean got a salad fork and a teaspoon to set on the napkin beside his plate (they were smaller, but still grown up), and he put the big fork and spoon beside Missouri’s plate, each of their places flanking Sam’s high chair.

While Dean set the table, Missouri had pulled the cornbread out of the oven and finished stirring the macaroni into the cheese sauce. She took their plates one at a time, starting with Dean’s, ending with her own, and loaded them up, then they sat at the table. Missouri politely asked Dean to stop eating and had him bow his head and close his eyes while she said grace. He obeyed.

The first bite Missouri tried to feed to Sam wound up on the floor, and Sam started whimpering. She looked at Dean. “What did I do wrong?”

“He likes to use his hands to feed hisself, but if you want to feed him with that you have to make airplane noises an’ tell him to open up for the airplane,” Dean said. “Like this.” He walked over to Missouri’s side of the table and took the airplane in his hand, scooping up some macaroni and cheese cut into tiny pieces and demonstrated the noise, the simulated flight. “Open up for the airplane, Sammy.” Sam leaned forward and opened his mouth eagerly, smiling as he chewed when Dean withdrew the empty spork.

“I see. Let me try.” Missouri imitated Dean, and Sam took the bit of green beans she offered (also cut into tiny pieces). “Alright. I think I have the hang of it. Thank you, Dean. You’re a very good big brother. Go on and eat your own food before it gets cold.”

Dean seldom got to eat a meal while it was hot. At best, he usually got lukewarm because it was usually his job to feed Sammy and keep him from making too much of a mess. This meal with Missouri was awesome, especially the macaroni and cheese.

After Dean cleaned his plate, he looked around but couldn’t find the pie he’d been promised for dessert. He thought maybe there would be more cooking. Missouri was carrying their cleaned plates to the sink, and turned as though she sensed him looking for something and not finding it.

“Dean Winchester, I did not forget the apple pie. I made it before y’all got here this morning. I set it up on the refrigerator to cool so your Daddy wouldn’t see it and eat it all up from us. Also, you have a bad habit of burning your fingers and mouth on it ‘cause you can’t wait for it to cool before getting a bite of it,” she said, hand on her hip. “Now, before I bring you a slice, do you want it plain today or with vanilla ice cream?”

“Oooh, with vanilla cream, please!” he replied.

“Ice cweam! Some!” Sam babbled, waving his airplane spoon around, having commandeered it as a toy as Missouri left the table.

Missouri laughed and pulled the pie down off the top of the refrigerator, carrying it to the counter and pulling a pie server from a drawer. “Your brother doesn’t like pie?”

“He eats it sometimes, but only the middle part, not the crust, and he likes the ice cream best,” Dean answered.

“’S that why you get the ice cream?” she asked, cutting and scooping the first slice up, placing it on a plate.

Dean dropped his chin and looked up at her bashfully. “Yeah. Dad says it’s cheaper to get my pie with ice cream than get Sammy his own ice cream, ‘cause he doesn’t eat enough of it. He just eats a little of my ice cream. I get some, too. I like it. It’s yummy.”

“Well, we’ll get Sam his own ice cream today. You’ve been such a good kitchen helper and take such good care of your brother, you deserve to have your pie and ice cream all to yourself.” She pulled the ice cream from the freezer and put a rather sizeable scoop on top of Dean’s pie before setting it in front of him.

“Thank you, Miss Missouri.” He picked up his spoon, which he hadn’t used to eat his dinner, and dug in with gusto.

”You’re welcome, baby.”

“Ice cweam!” Sam squealed, reaching toward Dean’s dessert, grabbing at nothing. “Some!”

“Hold your horses. You’ll get some.”

And he did. Missouri returned to the table with her own pie and ice cream and a small dish of ice cream for Sam, which she fed him just the way Dean had taught her.

Dean’s memory of this Sunday and of Missouri faded over the years, layered over by trauma, by hundreds, then thousands of days on the road, hunger pangs (Sam always got fed first), and hunts. Part of him never forgot the macaroni and cheese, even when he could no longer remember where exactly the sense memory came from. When he was twelve, Dean learned to make a version very much like it from a local access cooking show while holed up in a motel with a kitchenette, though it would be a special treat, since the boxed stuff was cheaper and since it really needed to be cooked on a stove and not the hotplate his Dad kept in the trunk of the car.

And, of course, he was always chasing the perfect piece of apple pie that had so accurately mimicked his mother’s. This he found after moving into the Men of Letters bunker, the recipe located between the covers of an obviously well-loved vintage edition of _The Fannie Farmer Cookbook_ , which cookbook soon became even more well-loved. What Missouri said was true. Dean did grow up to become a really good cook, and Sam grew up to appreciate that.


	3. The First Meal Sacrificed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is seven years old the first time he skips a meal so he can feed Sam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter isn't going to be happy like the previous one. It requires **trigger warnings** for the following: **child abuse, implied alcohol abuse, neglect/parentification, and child hunger.**
> 
> **If you are a John stan, this may not be the chapter you want to read**. While I don't think John is completely heartless or evil (everyone's entitled to their opinion, though), and may have actually turned out to be a decent parent if Mary had survived, I do not think he was a fit parent after her death. I don't find him _entirely un_ sympathetic, because I do think he was dealing with complex PTSD from both his time in Vietnam and witnessing Mary's death, as well as ongoing violent encounters with supernatural creatures, and that he was probably an alcoholic, at least periodically, so I don't think he did what he did to his children with intentional malice. But--a very big, all caps BUT--the show often hints that he was physically abusive to Dean, and verbally and emotionally abusive to and neglectful of both boys, and I think that was a consequence of not dealing with his issues, but not an _excuse_. That said, you are entitled to disagree, and I'll try to write a happier chapter next time.
> 
> This chapter takes a look at his deteriorating state through Dean's eyes.

Dean is seven years old the first time he skips a meal so he can feed Sam.

They've been moving around more than usual lately, not staying anywhere longer than two or three weeks for a few months now. Dean has stopped trying to make friends at school. It hurts to leave them. While he's in school, Dad leaves Sammy with whoever he can find to watch a three year old. Sammy clings to Dean's clothes and cries when he leaves for school. Sammy also cries at night a lot, still. The constant moving is making it worse.

Dad hates when they cry. Dean has learned to do it quietly, and only when the lights are out at night, hidden somewhere at school, or while he takes his bath. Dad says big boys don't cry, and he's a big boy. Sammy is still little, though. When Sammy starts, if they're at this week's motel, he pulls the covers up over them like a blanket fort and sings him the first verse of the song Mom used to sing to him when she put him to bed. He doesn't remember the rest. At seven, he still thinks she made it up, but he will later learn it was her favorite Beatles song, "Hey Jude." If they're in the car, and Dad is yelling, Sam hides his face in Dean's side and Dean wraps him in the old blanket he carried out of the fire with them so he can't see Dad and sings quietly in his ear. He sings it over and over until Sammy quiets and drifts off to sleep.

Before they went to bed this time, Sam was crying again. Dad was yelling. Dad left to take a walk, and told him that they'd both better be quiet when he got back. By the time he came back, Sam was asleep, curled into Dean's side. Dean was still awake, but stayed quiet. Dad sat down on his bed, and that is the last thing Dean remembers until he hears the door slam open, banging against the wall. It's still dark outside. Dean sits up with a start, ready to grab Sam and pull him into the bathroom, lock the door, and shove them both out the window above the tub.

"'S okay, Dean. 'S just me," his Dad says from the door, silhouetted against the parking lot lights. "Couldn't sleep and went for a walk." Dad sounds funny, like he can't quite get his words out right. "Lay down 'n' go back to sleep 'fore you wake your brother."

Dean lies back down, but turns to face the doorway. Dad is walking funny, as he makes his way inside, stumbling when he grabs for the door to close it. Dean watches him stumble to the bathroom, wondering if he's getting sick. He hears the toilet flush and the sink run, then his Dad comes back out and falls into his bed, snoring almost immediately. Dean's eyes droop as Sam snuffles against his back, and he falls asleep.

The next morning, Dean wakes to dim, grey light leaking through the flimsy motel curtains. He's just learned to tell time well, but the digital clock on the nightstand is super easy. It's seven on Saturday morning. Dad and Sammy are still asleep.

Dean makes a quick trip to the bathroom, and as he comes back out, his tummy growls. He walks to the kitchenette, already knowing there's not much there. Today is supposed to be grocery day, and there's never much left the morning of grocery day. He finds a little bit of peanut butter left in the jar, but no bread or crackers or even apples to put it on. Some kids like to eat it off a spoon, but he's not one of them. He hates how it sticks to his mouth. All the Spaghetti-O's are gone, so are the blue boxes of macaroni and cheese. There's still some Lucky Charms left, but only enough for one bowl, and there's not much milk, either. That is all. What if Sam wakes up hungry and starts crying? That would wake Dad up, and that is not a good thing to do.

The last time Dean woke Dad up in the morning after he had acted like he did last night, it had been because they were out of food, and he'd gotten whipped with a belt. At first Dad looked like he was scared, and grabbed his arm really hard.  Then he turned him around, yanked his shirt off and his pants down, and brought the belt down across his back and legs.  

"Don't ever wake me up unless it's an emergency! How many times do I have to tell you! You'll remember this time!" he'd said. 

Dean had cried. He couldn't help it. It hurt really, really bad, and left marks that were still there the next day when he had to go to school, and he had to hide them. Dad told him if he didn't hide them, the grownups at the school would take him away and put him in a house with strangers, and he'd never see Sammy again. The noise woke Sammy, and he started crying, yelling at Dad to stop hurting Dean.  Dad went towards Sam with the belt, but Dean threw himself over Sam, shushing him and looking back defiantly. Then Dad's eyes got wide, he dropped the belt, and left for a while.  Dean sat on the bed crying quietly and shaking.

Sam sat up and started kissing the stripes on his back. "Kiss the boo-boos, make them better," he said, over and over. It made Dean cry harder, and he doesn't know why.

When Dad came back that morning, Dean had dressed himself again and washed his face, and he'd gotten Sam dressed. Dad pulled him aside and apologized. He said he was having bad dreams and was scared when he woke up. He said that his step-dad had done that to him when he was little, and he'd hated it. He said he was sorry, but he told him again not to wake him up unless it was an emergency. Then he put them both in the car and took them out for pancakes and bacon for breakfast.   
  
He was right, though. Dean remembered. He was not going to wake Dad just because he was hungry. It was still early. His Dad would wake up soon and they'd go get groceries. He just had to wait.

Sammy woke up at 7:30. Dean was sitting on the end of the bed watching Saturday morning cartoons on low volume. This motel only got the old ones like Bugs Bunny, Porky Pig, the Roadrunner and such, but it was better than sitting there bored, waiting for the others to wake up. Sam sat up and rubbed his eyes, rolled to the edge of the bed, and went in the bathroom. Dean was so glad Sam was potty trained now. Dad was a lot less grumpy when he wasn't having to buy diapers, and Sam was only having "accidents" occasionally. Most mornings now, Dean woke to a dry bed.

Sam jumped back onto he bed, bouncing. "I'm hungwy, Dean. When's bweakfast?"

"Shhh. Quiet. Dad's still asleep. Did you wash your hands?" He asked, because he had heard the toilet flush, but he hadn't heard the sink.

Sam looked up at him, grinning mischievously and giggled. "No."

" _Breakfast_ comes after you wash your hands," Dean replies, emphasizing the 'r' in 'breakfast.' Dad said he had to start correcting Sam, making sure to say the words right, so he would stop the baby talk because Sam was getting to old for that.

"I can't weach the sink," he says, and pouts.

Dean sighs. "You can't  _reach_ the sink. I'll fix it so you can. Come on." Dean drags the now-beat-up suitcase his and Sam's clothes are usually kept in into the bathroom for Sam to climb on so he can reach the sink.

"Here." He stays behind his brother, both to make sure he doesn't fall and to make sure he actually does wash his hands.

While Sam dries his hands on the motel towel, Dean walks back out to the main room and pours the last bowl of Lucky Charms, sets it on the small table, and lays a spoon and McDonald's napkin beside it. He walks to the refrigerator, pulls out the milk, takes the cap off and sniffs it, then tips the jug and gets a little on his finger to taste, just like he's been taught. It's still good, so he pours it over the cereal just as Sam opens his mouth, probably to ask where the milk is.

Sam digs in happily, pausing occasionally to pick out one of the leprechaun hats with the green four-leaf clovers on them and line them up on his napkin. For some reason, Sam doesn't like those. When Sam talks, Dean has to remind him to do it quietly, because Dad is still asleep. When Sam finishes breakfast, Dean eats the four marshmallows he left on his napkin, his stomach growling again. Then he gets Sam and himself dressed, teeth brushed.

When Dad finally wakes up, it's 11:30. Dean watches him carefully as he makes his way to the bathroom. Dad looks sick. When he comes back out, he's wearing sunglasses.  
  
"Come on, boys. Let's go get some food." Dad grabs his jacket and slips it on while Dean puts Sam's on him and slips into his hoodie.

They end up at McDonald's because Sam starting squealing excitedly about the playground as they drove by. Sam gets a hamburger happy meal, but Dean asks for a grownup cheeseburger, fries, and a Coke. He gets a quarter pounder with a small order of fries and eats every bite. Dad gets a Big Mac, medium fries, and a large coffee. Then, because Sammy is taking forever to finish his food between bouts of playing with his toy, Dad sends him to the counter with money to get three apple pies. After Dean finishes the pie, and Sam has eaten half of his, Dad sends them out to the playground because Sam is getting antsy and talkative, and Dad wants to talk to some guy named Martin. As Dean follows Sam outside, he hears them discussing "the hunt," and wonders what it means, but he doesn't have too much time to think about it. He has to watch Sammy.

When Dad is ready to leave, he taps on the window near Dean and motions for them to come inside. Sam doesn't want to leave, but he doesn't pitch a toddler fit, which is good. When he gets Sam inside, Dad announces they're going to the grocery store, so they should think about what they want to eat for the next week.  When they get there, Dean puts extra Lucky Charms and milk in the cart, and Dad lets him.


End file.
